


(mistakes aren’t always regrets)

by softly (alexenglish)



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Inception Fusion, Espionage, M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 13:53:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12234186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexenglish/pseuds/softly
Summary: We are terrible for each other, and, yes, we are a disaster.  But tell me your heart doesn’t race for a hurricane or a burning building.  I’d rather die terrified than live forever.





	(mistakes aren’t always regrets)

**Author's Note:**

> [a softer world project](http://queerlyalex.tumblr.com/asofterworld)

 

There’s blood in his mouth, which isn’t an unfamiliar taste, but he likes to avoid it when he can. He likes to avoid guns pointed at his face when he can. _And_ he likes to avoid Louis Tomlinson when he can. The fact that Louis Tomlinson is the one pointing the gun at Zayn’s face after he hit Zayn with it, putting the taste of blood in Zayn’s mouth, is a really unfortunate amalgamation of events.

“Hey babe,” Zayn says, smirking.

It’s too dark to see where Zayn’s gun ended up after it Louis knocked it away. With his luck, it’s under the bed or somewhere even less accessible.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Louis says flatly.

“Where the fuck did you come from?” Zayn asks, wiping his chin with the back of his wrist. There’s a smear of blood, pink and watery. He’ll be alright.

“Don’t worry about it.” Louis jerks his gun at the bed so Zayn sits, unbuttoning his suit jacket. Louis watches him, eyes intense in the low lighting. He looks exactly the same as he did a year ago, but that’s not very telling is it?

Louis is in a suit as well. Dark grey, perfectly tailored trousers, a jacket loose enough to hide shoulder holsters. Hair pushed back and neatly quiffed. A great occasion to look fancy for, fucking up Zayn’s job.

“How busted am I?” Zayn asks, stripping out of his jacket, revealing his own guns. He unshoulders his holster and drops it on the mattress next to him, working on rolling his sleeves up his forearms.

“Pretty fuckin’ busted,” Louis says, with a grin.

Which means Zayn isn’t really busted at all. There are probably two, three more people working with Louis at most and that’s all. If Zayn was in real trouble, Louis wouldn’t bother teasing this out.

“Always showin’ your cards, babe,” Zayn says slowly. “You never change.”

Louis is expecting it, of course he is. If Zayn knows exactly what’s going on in Louis’ head, then Louis knows exactly what’s going on in Zayn’s head. But Zayn doesn’t need him to be surprised -- just distracted.

He lunges, knows Louis won’t fire reflexively. There’s enough of a pause that Zayn has his hand around Louis’ fist and the gun knocked towards the ceiling before it fires, plaster raining down on them as bullets hit one after the other.

Pain laces down his arm, angled wrong for the kickback, but Zayn manages to twist the gun out of Louis’ grip and punches him in the ribs. Louis steps back with a grunt, giving Zayn enough room to shoot the window that’s immediately and conveniently located behind Louis before shooting him twice in the shoulder.

When he stumbles, Zayn kicks him in the center of the chest. The look on his face is nearly comical as he flies out the window backwards, glass shattering around him.

Zayn puts the gun to his temple and pulls the trigger --

\-- and rolls off the lawn chair, pulling the IV out as he goes, fighting the wave of nausea. There’s black spots behind his eyes as he pats himself down. No gun, no knife.

Whatever.

He stumbles and throws up, sick splashing the concrete wall.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Louis roars, coming out of it. Zayn hears the lawn chair scrape, the PASIV leads clatter as they hit the ground.

“You’re a fucking _prick_ ,” Zayn says hoarsely, still gagging. “What the fuck did you give me?”

“You fucking _shot me_ ,” Louis snaps dramatically. His face is all red, hairline sweaty. It’s not like it’s the first time Zayn’s ever shot him.

Zayn is still heaving. “You deserved it! What the _fuck_ did you do to my cocktail?”

“It’s an experimental compound that speeds up the deterioration of the dream,” someone says, directly to Zayn’s left. Zayn recognizes that voice. “The nausea will wear off in seven to ten minutes,” Niall Horan continues gently. A towel enters Zayn’s field of vision. He takes it, wiping at his face before he drops it on the mess next to him.

“We should get out of here before your mark wakes up,” Zayn hears Louis say.

Zayn isn’t looking at either of them, loosening his tie and rolling up his sleeves. He wants his fucking gun. “Where’s my point?”

“We paid him off,” Louis says snidely.

“Fuck off, Liam wouldn’t.”

Liam’s a bit naive, but he’s loyal and keeps his mouth shut, and likes working with people he considers respectable more than making money. Which is probably misguided considering their line of work, but it’s adorably misguided so --

“You’re right, he wouldn’t,” Louis says, sounding disappointed. Zayn rolls his eyes. “He’s knocked out in the back of the Range Rover. C’mon, then.”

“Do I have a choice?” Zayn asks, straightening up.

“Nah,” Louis says, already gone off to wrap up his PASIV. Still the same old model on loan from the Queen’s men, no doubt.

A hot, angry feeling snarls under Zayn’s skin, but he ignores it as he grabs his own PASIV and doses the mark up with another sedative to keep him under longer. The job wasn’t actually a bust. He got what he wanted before he ended up in the hotel room with Louis, but no one needs to know that right now.

Niall leads the way, backpack slung over his shoulder, gun resting at the small of his back. He’s wearing a patterned button up, short sleeved with the ends rolled like he stepped out of a buddy cop movie. He looks good. But then again, he always does.

Louis kicks at Zayn’s shoe, jerking his head in the direction of the door. Zayn flips him two fingers and slouches after Niall, gaze sweeping the room one last time to make sure nothing important gets left behind.

Liam’s in the boot of the Range Rover, still and unmoving. Zayn slides into the backseat and leans over, pressing his fingers to Liam’s pulse. It’s steady. Zayn figured it would be, but better safe than sorry. Maybe it'll give everyone in the car some much needed  _guilt_.

“I didn’t kill him,” Niall says, climbing into the backseat with Zayn.

Zayn shrugs. “Just checking,” he says, raising his eyebrows, looking pointedly at the way their legs are pressed together.

“You can scoot back,” Niall informs him, mouth twitching. Zayn settles into the middle seat, spreading his legs wide. Niall shifts over without a fuss and buckles up, leaving his leg against Zayn’s.

Zayn sighs and meets Louis’ eyes in the rear view. “Let’s get out of here before the rest of MI6 arrive.”

“You know about that?” Louis asks casually, pulling out of the car park, back tires screeching. The mixture of bad timing, quick acceleration, and close quarters makes Zayn feel ill anytime he has to ride in the back seat while Louis is driving, but he doesn’t want to climb up front with Louis. It’d probably be distracting.

Zayn scoffs. Of course he knew. It’s been six months of jumping jobs and tracking down marks with MI6 on his tail the entire time. There’s been too many close calls and aborted dreams to count. It’s made him work three times slower than he usually does.

“You knew it was a set-up and you took the job anyway?” Louis asks sharply, when Zayn stays quiet.

“Didn’t have a choice,” Zayn says, lifting his chin. “Don’t act like you’re not at least partially responsible for this bullshit, _Agent_ _Tomlinson_.” He manages to make the two words exactly as loathsome as he means them.

“He’s not an agent anymore,” Niall says softly, as Louis’ jaw clenches so tight his muscle jumps.

“Got canned after I refused to take this job,” Louis says, eyes darting to look at Zayn in the rear view mirror. Zayn stares at him even after he’s turned back to the road. “Tracking you.”

“So then why are my ex-boyfriends are working together to fuck up my very necessary job, if they’re not employed by the government?” Zayn asks. It’s easier than asking details, like what the fuck Louis was thinking.

“We didn’t date,” Niall says, and promptly turns red.

“You’re right. Dating would imply going out,” Zayn admits, smirking. “We really just spent a month staying in and shagging on every surface of that flat in Paris.”

“We were saving you,” Louis says loudly. “Caught wind that MI6 was going to hit whilst you were under. Saved your arse. You’re welcome.”

“Could have handled it,” Zayn says. “I was about to kick myself out before you interrupted, mate.”

Before Louis has a chance to argue, Niall pokes Zayn sharply behind the ear.

“You _fecker_ ,” he says, pressing the pad of his thumb to the skin there. Zayn winces; it’s a bit sore. “I can’t believe you’re using it without me.”

“It needed a test run like,” Zayn says, batting Niall’s hand away.

“I was supposed to test it with you,” Niall says, voice low, sleepy blue eyes on Zayn. 

Might be silly for Zayn to miss someone he’d met on a job and shagged for five weeks before Zayn had to run, but he's missed Niall.

“Why are you here?” Zayn asks quietly. He knows why Louis is there. Louis’ been chasing Zayn for over a year, but Niall’s a complete surprise. Zayn isn’t sure he’s fully processed it yet.

“Wanted to find you, didn’t I?” Niall says, with a smile, pressing against Zayn’s leg more. “Ghosted me out of nowhere, took my tech, and never called.”

“Sorry.” Zayn reaches out and squeezes Niall’s hand. He is really sorry.

“I get it,” Niall says, squeezing back. He shrugs. Zayn doesn’t think Niall does, but he appreciates it. Appreciates the willingness to try, if anything.

Zayn catches Louis watching them in the mirror. They both look away at the same time.

 

 

The safe house is in the middle of the city. Hiding in plain sight or whatever. Zayn knows Harry through rumors and association. He’s used a couple of Harry’s locations, done Harry a few favors, gotten a few favors from him.

In person, Harry’s exactly as dry as his correspondence lead Zayn to believe he was. But he’s nice, and pretty, and insists on checking Liam over after they’ve hustled him out of the Range Rover.

Which leaves Zayn with Niall and Louis. Both of them follow Zayn into the bathroom.

“You don’t have to come with,” Zayn says, raising his eyebrows.

“I’m taking that thing out,” Niall says. “It’s two hours over recommended wear time.”

“And you want to see if it worked,” Zayn smirks, letting Niall steer him to the toilet so he can sit on the lid. Louis sits next to him on the lip of the tub, close enough that their legs touch. Zayn’s not sure why the leg touching is a thing today, but he doesn’t pull away. Whatever.

“‘Course it worked,” Niall snorts. “I created it.”

“What is ‘it’?” Louis asks, as Niall digs around in the medicine cabinet for something.

“Somethin’ somethin’, brain wave recording device that stores information during dream sharing,” Zayn says. Niall will elaborate later. Zayn eyes the Xacto knife Niall’s found in the first aid kit. “ _That_ seems a little dangerous.”

“S’fine, new even,” Niall says, tugging off the plastic cap and pressing his fingertips to Zayn’s head. “Don’t be a baby.”

“Wait --” Zayn leans away so he can unbutton and shrug his shirt off, tossing it at Louis so blood doesn't get on it. It's his last button up. Louis scowls, but balls it up in his hands and keeps it on his lap anyway.

“Healed up nicely,” Louis says, jerking his chin at Zayn’s side.

“Yeah, thanks for that by the way,” Zayn says sarcastically, resisting the urge to press his fingertips to the scar there. He does that sometimes -- gets nostalgic over it, thinks about Louis when he does. Louis and that last time they saw each other before Zayn left.

“What?” Niall asks, disbelief coloring his voice.

Oops.

“He didn’t tell you, love?” Louis asks flatly. “I was the one who stabbed him. Guess you didn’t get around to discussing that whilst you were shagging in Paris.”

“No,” Zayn agrees. “But we did talk about how Lomin was going t’ kill my dad if I didn’t get that information to him and off MI6’s payroll.”

“If you had just _told me_ ,” Louis snaps. “Instead of fucking off with the information in the middle of the night."

“Couldn’t, could I?” Zayn replies. He really couldn't. He wasn't about to misinterpret the  _or everyone you love dies_ bit of the message Lomin sent him. He wouldn't underestimate an underworld crime lord like that. Bloody prick.

“Lads,” Niall says warningly.

“S’fine.” Zayn shrugs. “Can’t keep it bottled up, I’ll end up shot or something.”

“Oh fuck you,” Louis says, voice going high and tight before he stands and strides out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind. He still has Zayn’s shirt.

“You didn’t have to say that,” Niall says, grabbing Zayn by the chin to tilt his head. Zayn moves obediently, ignoring the sour feeling in his gut.

“You know he stabbed me, right?” Zayn says. “You _know_ what I was going through, I told you --”

“I know,” Niall says gently. There’s a pressure behind Zayn’s ear, a sharp pain, and the wet slide of warm blood down his neck. “You know how he gets.” There’s a scraping sound. Zayn feels the chip move under his skin as Niall tries to wiggle it out. “He was scared.”

“Oh, and you know that?” Zayn asks, wincing.

“We talk,” Niall says nonchalantly. Zayn rolls his eyes. “He was looking for you, you know,” Niall adds, after Zayn’s been silent for a long moment. “After he realized you hadn’t gone rogue. That you were like, forced.”

“Good for him,” Zayn says, gritting his teeth as Niall slides the chip the rest of the way out, edges tugging the thin skin behind Zayn’s ear, fuck --

Niall tears paper off the loo roll and presses it to Zayn’s skin, showing Zayn the bloodied bit of tech.

“Hope it worked,” Zayn says brightly.

“It will,” Niall insists, pocketing it. Gross. “I created it.” Niall leans in a presses a soft kiss to the corner of Zayn’s mouth, pulling back with a shy smile. “I’ma send him in.”

“Playing dirty,” Zayn accuses, but he’s warm all over from the kiss, and the way Niall isn’t angry at him. It soothes all his nerves, knowing that Niall might trust him still. Might give him a chance to be the person he really is, instead of someone desperately trying to fix his life.

Even in Paris, when they were together, it wasn’t him. Niall was the best kind of accident when Zayn was still trying to figure out how to take Lomin down after getting his dad back. It took a bit longer to come up with a plan with Niall there, and maybe it was a mistake, but Zayn doesn't regret it.

“You know me,” Niall says, winking as he gets up.

Zayn stands once Niall's out the door, washes his face and the blood off his neck, swishes around some mouthwash for an unnecessarily long amount of time. He wants to check his burner phone. Really wants to figure out where they put his gun. But he stays and waits for Louis.

It takes a few minutes, but eventually he’s right there, closing the door behind him. They stare at each other for a moment before Louis is crowding Zayn against the sink and pressing his forehead to Zayn’s shoulder, hand coming up to grip Zayn’s waist, thumb skating over the scar there.

He’s trembling. Zayn can feel it when he wraps his arms around Louis, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Louis says, voice thick, nail digging into the rough edge of the scar.

“I know,” Zayn says, with a sigh. “For what’s it worth, I don’t think you’d shoot me.” He’s not going to say sorry.

“Glad of that,” Louis says.

Zayn feels a slight pressure against his shoulder, Louis’ warm lips against his skin. Zayn tilts his head back to Louis can kiss his neck, lingering at his pulse, teeth nipping at Zayn’s jaw. Zayn drops his chin so they can snog properly, mouths catching softly before Louis presses close, kisses him harder.

Zayn grips Louis’ waist, tugging him in so they’re touching in every place they can be. He missed Louis so much. He’s thought about this so much it barely feels real.

When they part, Louis doesn’t go far, nudging his nose against Zayn’s cheek, hands sliding up and down Zayn’s sides, thigh nudging between Zayn’s. He’s warm and comfortable, and Zayn wants to forget the last year ever even happened.

Except, the part with Niall. Zayn really likes Niall.

“So are we keeping the hacker?” Louis asks. Zayn had forgotten what being around Louis was like. The easy way Louis always knows what Zayn's thinking when Zayn's thinking it. Took years and years to perfect that particular skill -- since they were teenagers, really -- but Zayn's pleased to know Louis hasn't lost his touch. 

“‘Course." Zayn smiles. “You on the other hand…”

“Promise no more stabbing,” Louis says, biting Zayn’s jaw again. “I’ll be good.”

“You know I’m still not done,” Zayn says softly, pulling back so he can look Louis in the eye, reaching up to push Louis’ hair off his forehead. “With Lomin.”

Louis reaches up to hold onto Zayn's wrist, pressing a kiss to the thin skin over his pulse. So softly Zayn's stomach flutters. “Yeah, I know.” He shrugs. “But I ditched MI6 for you, _and_ I’m the best point you’ll ever have -- no offense Liam Payne -- You need me.”

“Yeah, do,” Zayn agrees. “Shit year without you.”

“Except that month you were shagging Niall in Paris, right?” Louis asks, rolling his eyes. He’s jealous.

“Totally.” Zayn grins when Louis pulls back enough to punch him in the shoulder softly. “It’ll be good to have you both around. I know you  _talk_. He seems protective of you.”

“We get along,” Louis says, going pink.

“Then that’s settled,” Zayn says, knocking Louis’ chin with his fingers so Louis will tilt his head up for a kiss. When they part, they hear Niall shout through the door,

“I’m in, lads! Thanks for asking!” 

**Author's Note:**

> [reblog on tumblr](http://queerlyalex.tumblr.com/post/165926071937/mistakes-arent-always-regrets)


End file.
